‘My King, my boy, you have no idea what a pleasure it is to see you once more. But . . . where’s the dog?’ he added looking around suspiciously.
‘Eumolpus of Soloi . . . there’s no need to worry, Peritas is no longer with us. He died in India, saving my life.’
‘I am sorry,’ replied the informer. ‘Even though he didn’t find me very agreeable. I know you loved him very much.’
Alexander lowered his head. ‘Bucephalas is dead, as are many, too many friends. It has been hard going. But where have you come from? I’d given you up for dead – you disappeared into thin air without saying a word and I had no news whatsoever.’
‘If it comes to that, I’d given you up for dead as well. And I’m not the only one. As for my disappearance, it’s quite normal. Once I realized what you wanted from me I set off at the first favourable opportunity without a second thought – a good informer never lets anything out regarding his own movements, not even to the person who has commissioned his work.’
‘If I know you,’ said Alexander, ‘you’re certainly not here just for the pleasure of seeing me once more.’
Eumolpus handed him a scroll. ‘Indeed. In your absence, my King, and, if I remember well, in full accordance with your wishes, I have been your eyes and your ears. I never forget those who have treated me well and you trusted me and you saved my life when everyone wanted to have me executed. There are things written in here that will not please you: it is a complete list of all the rum doings, the stealing, the corruption and violence committed by the satraps and the governors, Macedonians included, during your time away. There is also a list of all the witnesses you may interrogate, should you wish to begin trials against these people. The man in charge of the royal treasure, for a start, that cripple . . . Eumenes’ friend
‘Harpalus?’
‘That’s the one. He has taken five thousand talents from the coffers, enlisted six thousand mercenaries and is now marching towards Cilicia, if my latest information is correct. I believe he is currently dealing with some of his Athenian friends, men who are not exactly enamoured of your own good self
‘Demosthenes?’
Eumolpus nodded.
‘Where do you think he is heading?’
‘Athens, probably.’
At that moment Eumenes entered with an expression of deep embarrassment on his face. ‘Alexandre, unfortunately I bring terrible news! I don’t know where to start, because . . . in a certain sense it’s all my fault.’
‘Harpalus? I know already,’ and he nodded across to Eumolpus who was sitting quietly in a corner and had done nothing to bring himself to Eumenes’ attention. And I know of many other things, all of them thoroughly unpleasant. This is what must be done: you will immediately verify the allegations made in this document against the people mentioned, whether they be of Macedonian, Persian or Median race. After that, you will instigate all the necessary trials. The Macedonians, if found guilty, will be sentenced by the assembled army and the verdicts will be carried out with full respect for our traditional rites.’
‘And Harpalus?’
‘Find the lame bastard, Eumenes,’ ordered Alexander, pale with indignation, ‘wherever he may be. And have him killed like a dog.’
Eumolpus of Soloi stood up. ‘It seems to me that we have said all there is to be said.’
‘Indeed. Eumenes will pay you handsomely.’
Eumenes nodded, even more embarrassed now.
‘It is not your fault,’ Alexander said to him as he got to his feet. ‘You have never betrayed my trust and I know that you will never betray it.’
‘I thank you, but this does not alleviate my disappointment.’
He left the room and as he walked away through the corridors of the palace he met Aristander. The seer had a strange light in his eyes, a look of madness, and did not greet him. Perhaps he did not even see him.
The seer entered Alexander’s room and the expression on his face, so full of anguish and astonishment, struck the King profoundly.
‘What has happened?’ asked Alexander with the tone of someone who asks while fearing the answer that is bound to come.
‘It is my nightmare. It has returned.’
‘When?’
‘Last night. And one more thing.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Kalanos is not well.’
‘This is not possible!’ exclaimed Alexander. ‘He has undergone the worst hardships, the most demanding trials, the rain and the sun, hunger and thirst . . .’
‘And yet he is very ill.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since we arrived at Persepolis.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘In the house you assigned to him.’
‘Take me to him immediately.’
‘As you wish. Follow me.’
‘Where are you going, Alexandre? Roxane asked, worried.
‘To visit a friend who is unwell, my love.’
They crossed the city, over which the evening shadows were just beginning to fall, and they found themselves standing before a fine house surrounded by a portico, the residence of a Persian nobleman who had fallen in battle at Gaugamela. Alexander had put Kalanos in this house so that he might enjoy some comfort after the difficulties of the expedition.
The King entered with Aristander and the two of them walked down the long, quiet corridors and came to a room that was barely illuminated by the last light of day. Kalanos lay on a mat on the floor. His eyes were closed and his body was shockingly emaciated.
‘Kalane . . .’ whispered the King.
The man opened his eyes, two black, immense, febrile eyes. ‘I am not well, Alexandre.’
‘I cannot believe these words, master, I have seen you undergo every sort of hardship on a daily basis without you ever feeling pain or suffering in any way.’
‘I am suffering now. And this suffering is unbearable.’
Alexander turned and met the frowning gaze of his seer.
‘What is this suffering? Tell me, so that we may alleviate it.’
‘It is the suffering of the soul, the most acute form of suffering, for which there is no remedy.’
‘But what is it that makes you so unwell? Have you not walked the path that leads to imperturbability?’
Kalanos looked straight into Aristander’s eyes and between the two sages there was a dark knowing. He struggled to move his lips, but he did manage to speak once more: ‘Yes, I walked that path until I met you, until I saw in you the power of the Ocean in fury, the wild strength of the tiger, the supreme heights of the snowcapped mountains that hold up the sky. I wanted to know you and your world and I wanted to save you when your blind rage had brought you to the edge of destruction. But I knew what I would have to do if I failed. I made a pact with myself. I loved you, Alexandre, just like all those who have known you, and I wanted to follow you to protect you from your natural instinct, to teach you a wisdom that is different from that of the sages who educated you, from that of the warriors who made you an invincible instrument of destruction. But your tantra cannot be bent in any way, I know this now; now I see what is looming, what is imminent.’ He lifted his eyes to meet Aristander’s wavering gaze once more. ‘This is what makes my suffering so great. If I were to live to see what is about to happen, the pain would prevent me from ever attaining imperturbability, from ever dissolving my soul in infinity. You do not want this, Alexandre, tell me you do not want this.’
Alexander took his hand. ‘No,’ he replied, his voice quavering with emotion. ‘I do not want this, Kalane. But tell me, I beg you, tell me what is this terrible thing that must come to pass.’
‘I do not know. I can only feel it. And I cannot bear it. Let me die in the way I swore I would die.’
The King kissed the skeletal hand of the great sage, then he looked at Aristander and said, ‘Listen to his last wishes and communicate them to Ptolemy in order that he may carry them out. I . . . I . . . I cannot . . .’
And he left Ka
lanos’s quarters in tears.
*
When the time came Ptolemy carried out all he had been asked, and thus began Kalanos’s last journey towards infinite imperturbability.
He had a pyre built that was ten cubits high and thirteen cubits wide. Along the access road he had five thousand pezhetairoi lined up wearing their parade armour and organized a march of young men who spread rose petals everywhere. Then came Kalanos, so weak and exhausted that he could no longer walk, carried by four men on a stretcher, with wreaths of flowers around his neck in accordance with Indian custom. He was placed on the pyre, as naked as the day he had come into the world, while choirs of young boys and girls sang the sweetest hymns ever heard on earth.
Alexander had decided from the very beginning not to watch the ceremony and for this reason he had asked Ptolemy to carry out the Indian sage’s last wishes. At the very last moment, however, he recalled how Kalanos had watched over him when he was close to death and he decided to pay his last respects; he walked along the ceremonial route until he came to the pyre and there he looked on Kalanos, so fragile and naked and he thought of Diogenes lying with his eyes half closed before his churn, in the remote evening sun, and at that moment he remembered what Diogenes had told him when they were alone – the very same thing that Kalanos had told him, without opening his mouth, in the darkness of the tent while he struggled with death: ‘There is no conquest that has any meaning, there is no war worth fighting. In the end, the only earth left to us is the earth in which we are buried.’
He lifted his head and saw Kalanos’s body enveloped in a vortex of flames. Incredibly he was smiling in the midst of that fiery plasma, and it seemed to Alexander that he was moving his lips, he was mumbling something. The roar of the flames was too loud to hear anything, but the voice of the sage resounded anyway:
‘We will meet again in Babylon.’
62
ALEXANDER IMMEDIATELY LEFT Persis with all its sad memories and marched towards Susa, which he reached in midwinter.
As soon as he arrived, he went to visit Sisygambis who was much moved to see him and proffered greetings in the Greek manner with the most familiar of forms, ‘Chaire, pail’
‘Your Greek is perfect, Mother,’ Alexander complimented her. ‘I am glad to find you in good health.’
‘The joy is all mine for seeing you safe and sound,’ replied the Queen Mother. ‘I cried when news came that you had died. I imagine how your mother must have suffered, alone there in Macedonia.’
‘I sent her a letter as soon as I reached Salmous and I think she will have received it by now and it will have assuaged her anguish.’
‘May I hope that you might stay and eat with me?’
‘Most certainly. It will be a great pleasure for me.’
‘At my age I have no other satisfactions in life than receiving visits, and a visit from you is the most special of all. Sit down, my boy, don’t stand there like that.’
Alexander sat down. ‘Mother, I have not come simply to greet you.’
‘Why else have you come? Speak freely.’
‘I have heard tale that King Darius had another daughter.’
‘This is true,’ Sisygambis said.
‘Well, I wish to marry her.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I intend to take up Darius’s inheritance – his family must become my own family.’
‘I understand.’
‘May I hope that you will grant me her hand in marriage?’
‘Even had her father survived she would have been granted to someone to consolidate some alliance or to assure the loyalty of some satrap. She is no great beauty, and yet her name will remind you of a great love that you have lost . . . do you know what her name is? It is Barsine.’
Alexander lowered his head, overwhelmed by memories. Images that had been faded by time suddenly leaped vividly and startlingly into his mind.
‘That terrible day at Gaugamela,’ continued the Queen Mother. ‘I will never forget it . . . Stateira will be pleased to go and live with her elder sister. But Roxane?’
‘Roxane loves me. She knows she is queen, but she also realizes exactly what a king’s duties involve. I have already spoken to her.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘She cried. Just as my mother cried whenever my father Philip brought a new bride to the palace. But I love Roxane more than any thing or any one and she knows this.’
‘I gladly grant you Barsine. Now you will unite the Argead dynasty with the Achaemenids – now there will be neither victors nor vanquished. How will your men take it?’
‘I will convince them.’
‘You think so?’
‘I am sure of it. And I have one more thing to ask of you – the hand of Barsine and Stateira’s little sister.’
‘You want Drypetis as well? I suppose it’s only natural.’
‘Not for me. For my friend Hephaestion. In our youth we thought it would be wonderful if we were to marry two sisters: that way our children would be cousins.’
‘I can only be pleased to grant her to your friend. I only hope that this marriage is accepted by your noblemen and your soldiers.’
‘Of course it will be,’ replied Alexander. ‘Many of my men already live with Persian or Median girls and even have children. It is right that they marry now, and for others I am selecting Persian brides. I have calculated that there will be, more or less, ten thousand weddings.’
The elderly queen opened her eyes wide in her heavily wrinkled face. ‘Ten thousand, pai? Oh, great Ahura Mazda, this is something the world has never seen before!’ She smiled with an expression of innocent wickedness. ‘After all is said and done, I think you’re right – the bed is the best place for building long-lasting peace.’
*
While organizing preparations for the weddings, Alexander began planning new expeditions to unknown lands as well and it was for this reason that he waited impatiently for the arrival of Nearchus’s fleet which was sighted, just as winter turned to spring, at the mouth of the Tigris.
The flagship flew the Argead standard with the golden star and dropped anchor in the canal that was almost directly below the city walls. Behind it the rest of the fleet moored to roaring acclaim and applause, amidst trumpet blasts and the rolling of drums.
Nearchus, all bedecked in his armour, received full honours from two battalions of pezhetairoi and then he was received by Alexander sitting on his throne with Roxane alongside him, stunning in her imperial gown all woven with gold and studded with gemstones.
As soon as he saw his admiral, the King went towards him and kissed him on both cheeks, then he received vice-admiral Onesicritus and all the commanders of each single ship to offer his congratulations and present each of them with a gift.
That same evening he summoned all his friends to supper, including Nearchus and Eumenes, to communicate his decisions. The banquet was set up in the throne room itself and the dining beds were arranged along three sides, so that all the guests could see and hear the King. There were neither women nor musicians present, which made it seem more like a war council than a banquet.
Alexander began, ‘I have decided that the time has come for you all to marry.’ They all looked at one another in amazement. ‘You are getting on,’ he continued, ‘and you ought to start thinking about setting up families. I have chosen beautiful brides who come from the highest social stations . . . all of them Persian.’
There followed a moment of silence.
‘Not only this,’ continued the King, ‘but I have decided to celebrate weddings between the Macedonian and Asian couples that exist already. Many of them, as you know, already have children. I will provide money for the dowries of the brides for those who choose to get married now. Just so long as the bride is Persian, that is. This is the only way we can create a future for our conquest, to wipe out the rancour, the hatred, the desire for revenge – a single homeland, a single King, a single people. This is my plan and this is also
my will. If any of you are against this, please speak up now.’
No one said a word. Only Eumenes lifted his hand. ‘I am not Macedonian and I am not a hero like the rest of you and I have no intention to take part in the foundation of any empire – if I could be excused from having to take part in this springtime reproductive orgy, I would be most happy. The very idea of having a wife hanging around me gives me goose pimples and—’
‘Your bride,’ Alexander interrupted him with a smile, ‘goes by the name of Artonis, daughter of the satrap Artaozos. She is most pretty and devout. I am sure you will be very happy together.’
The ceremony took place in the springtime, under a gigantic tent, with the Persian rite. High-backed armchairs were lined up in order and then the grooms arrived for the general toast and mutual wishes of happiness. Immediately afterwards the brides arrived, dressed in their nuptial gowns and they each took their places alongside their spouses. Then, following the King’s lead, each man took the woman’s hand and kissed her. Each of the guests received a golden cup and then the banquet was set up, with a sumptuous supper for some twenty thousand people. The wine flowed from a fountain and everyone could drink at will. Choirs of young boys and girls sang nuptial hymns to the accompaniment of Babylonian and Indian harps, flutes and drums.
Stateira had arrived from Ecbatana two days previously and she took part in the ceremony as a lady-in-waiting to her sister Barsine, born of Darius’s first marriage. When the time came to retire, she accompanied her as far as the threshold of the bedchamber where her new husband was due to join her. Alexander arrived before Stateira had left and she greeted him with a kiss.
‘I am happy you have come, Stateira. It has been a long time since we last saw each other.’
‘This is true, my Lord, it has been a long time.’
‘I hope you are well.’
‘I am fine,’ replied Stateira with an enigmatic smile, ‘but I find myself wondering just how well you are.’
‘Perhaps I’ve had a bit too much to drink,’ replied Alexander, ‘but on a night like this the wine can only do me good.’